


Undeniable

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-15
Updated: 2005-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is attacked by another angel and flees to the bookshop, where Aziraphale now has to face one of his own over the life of Crowley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undeniable

The last few months had been… indescribable. Crowley had no words for what it meant to have Aziraphale around him all day. Of course, well, he had had the angel around almost every day for the last six millennia, give or take a century here or there, but this was different. This was Aziraphale his lover. This was his angel, not just some divine enemy he had to best every now and then to keep his records straight.

Feeling uncharacteristically chipper, in an absolutely un-demonic good mood even, he strolled through Hyde Park, watching people all around. He couldn't resist a little mischief here or there, but overall the demon was behaving. Well, for a demon.

He snickered a little and pushed the sunglasses higher up his nose.

Aziraphale would have a field day if he was here, but his angel had insisted to work. The book shop didn't run itself, he had told him sternly.

As if there were any customers. Crowley snorted. The shop was as quiet as a grave, but Aziraphale insisted to be open just in case someone might drop by.

Highly bloody unlikely.

And if someone dared to enter, it was even more unlikely that a book would be sold to him or her. His angel was quite possessive of the dusty old tomes.

Oh well. With nothing better to do that didn't involve very hot and mind-melting sex with a certain angel, Crowley had opted for a walk in the park, coupled with whatever he could do to satisfy his neglected demonic side.

Just catching himself before he started to whistle a tune, Crowley made a performing artist mess up his juggling act and chuckled to himself.

Yes, it felt good. Bloody good.

And then something slammed into him. It tore through his spine, shattering muscles, bones and whatever else it caught in its way, exiting through the front of Crowley's chest and spraying blood everywhere. The demon gave a cry of pain and surprise, collapsing forward almost gracefully. If his body were completely human, he would be dead now. As it was, the body was only a shell and it contained something that wasn't easily downed by whatever had just perforated him.

But it hurt.

It was total agony.

And it made him bleed.

Crowley coughed and a new wave of pain had him whimper, blood spattering from his mouth.

"Foul demon!" a voice yelled.

Yellow eyes blinked, the sunglasses long gone. And then Crowley's senses registered just who was behind him.

Angel.

Not Aziraphale; some other angel. A very dangerous, furious and attack-happy one of his species.

"Go back to your hellish existence!" the angel demanded.

Crowley moved without thinking, ignoring the searing hot pain that made every move, every thought, agony. He managed to evade the second attack, but just barely. His wings came out, razor sharp at the edges and slicing toward his attacker, who evaded him.

"What the fuck…" Crowley coughed, blood filling his mouth. "I didn't do anything!"

He stumbled and his breathing was raspy at best. Not that he needed to breathe, but the wound was making him do peculiar things. Like losing his focus and feeling very cold all of a sudden. Freaking angel weapons!

"You're a demon!" the angel proclaimed. “You are Hell’s minion and evil incarnate! You are the Enemy of Him. I am here to destroy you!”

Had Aziraphale ever sounded so bad and cliché? Crowley couldn’t remember. His angel wasn’t prone to speeches in any case. He was a quiet one, but dangerous when threatened or truly riled up.

He narrowed his eyes on the wavering image of his attacker. Good for nothing do-gooder was blond, dressed in classical angel garb and looking so bloody righteous, complete with a sword, it made Crowley want to throw up. Then again, throwing up would result in more pain. Not a good idea.

"But I didn't do anything!" he repeated doggedly.

"Your existence is enough," the angel proclaimed and charged once more.

Crowley yelped as the sword swung his way again and caught his left wing. The resulting impact made him cry out at the searing pain that the little contact provoked. Whatever this sword was, it was a far cry from anything Crowley had ever faced. Then again, had he ever faced anyone else but Aziraphale? No… his angel had been his only opponent for millennia.

Shit…

Weak, feeling more and more disoriented, he did the only thing he could – he fled.

 

 

None of the humans in the park had seen any of the spectacle and those who thought they had would soon forget about it, just feeling slightly strange and mildly upset for no reason for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

Crowley's feverish mind came up with only one perfectly safe haven: the book shop. He would find safety and protection there. His angel would help him. He needed his angel.

But there was one of Aziraphale’s side going after him like he was Lucifer himself, part of him reminded him nastily. What made him think that Aziraphale would really help him? Against another angel!

Crowley whimpered at the thought, nearly crashing into a display window as he stumbled along. His illusions were wavering, sending people scattering out of his way. None of the humans had a clear idea what was racing past them, but they simply knew they didn’t want to be in its way. The demon felt the angelic presence follow him, chase him across town, up and down and around, and Crowley was tiring faster and faster. He had to reach the book shop.

He reached it. Actually, he crashed through the front door in a messy, bloody heap in the middle of the room, whimpering at the pain now engulfing him body and mind. Everything was either too cold or too hot, which was kind of strange for a demon, and it hurt to think. Whatever the weapon had been, it apparently tried to slice apart his very essence, not just damage the human body.

"Crowley!"

The voice washed over him with the same intensity as his angel's presence. His injured mind shied away from the celestial power, but something else moaned in relief.

"Zira…" he breathed. “Help…”

"What happened to you?" the angel demanded, touching one blood-smeared shoulder.

Crowley cried out and curled up. Aziraphale’s very touch was like a renewed slice of the sword.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered. "Sorry."

And then the second angelic presence washed over him and Crowley nearly choked. He was wide open, at his most vulnerable, and what weapon the angel had hit him with, it was fast rendering him completely helpless. Demons had a natural shield against too much divine aura around them, but Crowley’s had crumbled and he was left gasping and crying softly, trying to shield his demonic essence from being overwhelmed and erased by so much Light.

"Who are you?" he heard Aziraphale ask.

Crowley's eyes cracked open automatically at the tone of voice he had rarely heard in his lover before. Okay, so there had been one or two occasions, but never… never like this. Aziraphale sounded like the worst kind of pissed off. It was more than anger, the Aziraphale kind of anger.

This was more than demonic than divine, he decided faintly. This was dangerously bad in a celestial way.

"I am Evirel," the newcomer proclaimed. "Step aside. I have a demon to exorcise."

Crowley shivered and made a pathetic whimpering noise that any demon would be embarrassed to hear. His fingers dug into the floor.

"Leave my shop," Aziraphale said evenly. "Now."

"I have my work to finish."

"Not in my shop."

"Are you protecting this creature of evil?" the other angel demanded.

"I said leave!" Aziraphale commanded and the voice made Crowley cower even more.

The other angel sneered, which was completely un-angelic. "You protect the enemy?"

"Crowley is not my enemy."

Laughter answered him. "He is a demon. Demons are our enemies. They are Hell's minions; Fallen Ones. We send them back to Hell wherever we meet them."

"You will not touch Crowley. I won't repeat myself, Evirel."

"Who are you, traitor?"

Aziraphale smiled humorlessly. "Aziraphale."

"I'll report my findings, Aziraphale. You'll be recalled, tried and found guilty! You will Fall!"

And with that the other angel was gone.

Crowley felt part of him freeze at the last words.

Fall…

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no…"

"Crowley?"

Something gentle touched him, something warm and so soft, so very familiar and loving, it hurt.

"No," Crowley repeated, starting to tremble.

Not his angel. Please, not his angel.

"Crowley, relax. It'll be okay."

Nothing would be okay, ran over and over in his head. Nothing at all. Aziraphale would Fall because of him. He would be a demon…

Crowley keened softly to himself, lost in the horror of a fallen angel, his fallen angel, who had done nothing but love a demon. He hadn’t committed the Original Sin, he hadn’t killed or cursed or done harm in any other way to humankind.

The warmth increased and flowed through him, healing the terrible damage to his body. It hurt in a different way as divine power mended what another kind of divine power had torn to shreds.

"Easy, Crowley," Aziraphale soothed. "Can you move your wing a little?"

He did so. He responded automatically to the gentle voice and he obeyed.

"You'll be fine. It'll be over soon. My, what cruelty," Aziraphale continued. "Such unreasonable violence. And totally unfounded."

His angel couldn't fall, continued endlessly through Crowley's mind. Not his angel. Not because of him. If the other angel reported this… He had to be stopped. He had to stop Aziraphale, make him leave, let him be… He might just make it, Crowley thought dimly. His angel could hide, always move, never stay anywhere. He could evade the celestial forces.

Clawed fingers dug abruptly into one of Aziraphale's sleeves, puncturing the material quite thoroughly.

"Easy," the angel murmured.

“Leave… me…” Crowley whispered. “Go.”

“What?” Mild perplexity was in the other being’s voice.

“Leave. Hide… Don’t Fall…”

“I won’t,” Aziraphale calmed him. “Just let me heal the damage.” And the warm aura increased.

Crowley gave a whimper that was an almost-scream as the wing was realigned and the bones creaked as they healed. Angelic healing power was gentle and warm, completely non-invasive, and usually demons could handle it. Aziraphale had never had to do that much damage control, though. Crowley’s natural shields were still down and those positive healing waves were hurting him.

"Shhhh," Aziraphale murmured and suddenly he was cradled in his angel's arms, held close to his presence and encased in white wings.

In the middle of a bookshop.

But no one saw them. Aziraphale made sure of it, the shop locked, the windows blocked, and the illusion of emptiness in place. Crowley buried his head against the smooth material of his lover's sweater, breathing hard, riding out wave after wave of pain that finally diminished. He concentrated on the clean smell of the angel, on the familiar heart beat, on every little noise Aziraphale made.

Careful fingers stroked over his hair, smoothing the wild tangle. A kiss was placed against one temple.

"You'll be fine," Aziraphale murmured. "Just fine."

No, he thought desperately. Because you will Fall because of me. You will Fall, Zira!

It was the last thought on his mind when he finally slipped into the nothingness of unconsciousness, surrounded by the Light of his angel.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale assessed in the damage taken by his counterpart and supposed enemy, sighing softly to himself. Crowley had smashed through the door, bleeding all over the floor, leaving blood stains and feathers everywhere. There was a gaping wound in his back and chest, caused by a demon destroying weapon that had luckily not been set to full power. His left wing had been sliced, the feathers neatly cut, and there was blood clinging to the fractured bone and torn skin.

All very painful.

It was a miracle the demon had made it this far.

Aziraphale had closed the shop, stabilized his demon, and then managed to get him into the back room where he had continued to heal the terrible wounds. Evirel was currently forgotten, not wanted in his thoughts as he concentrated on fixing Crowley.

Needless violence, he thought sadly. Such needless violence. Crowley hadn’t attacked anyone and even if he had gone about his demonic ways, which was only natural, there was certainly nothing in them that warranted this.

He should put in a complaint.

Then again, better not. Drawing attention to them wasn’t really necessary. They had been left alone by their respective sides for quite a while now, both going about their daily business as they had for millennia, and Aziraphale wasn’t keen on getting orders he might not like. He was a servant of Him, but things had changed for this particular angel. He had found love in form of a demon.

Stroking over the healed wing, Aziraphale smiled. No, getting them unwarranted attention wasn’t really good right now. As for Evirel, the other angel might or might not go through with his threats. If he did, things would change. For now, Aziraphale believed in what he had told Crowley. Love was not a sin. And this was true love.

With his demon lying on the bed, Aziraphale chose a book and settled beside him. There was a murmur from Crowley and a little shifting, then the other curled up next to him, snuggling close.

The angel smiled more.

Crowley liked snuggling, though he would never confess to it. He downright protested any notion of snuggling or cuddling, even while doing so. Aziraphale ran a hand over the midnight black hair, marveling at its silkiness. Everything about Crowley was so contradictive. He was a demon, but he didn’t really look it, even at his most demonic while in human form. Sure, the eyes were far from human, but Aziraphale had seen humans with eyes more demonic than Crowley’s. Not that he would ever tell him. That would probably have him muttering and grumbling for a day.

The high cheekbones were a plus, too. Aziraphale loved the way it made him look, especially together with the eyes and the hair. Truly demonic, sure, but also not so very much either.

In his sleep, Crowley exuded an air of innocence that would probably mortify him to no end. Aziraphale found it endearing and such a difference to the awake Crowley. Like right now. Gentle fingers stroked over one of the high cheekbones and down the smooth, unblemished skin of the cheek. Crowley mumbled a little, leaning into the touch without even being awake, and something inside Aziraphale curled in tender warmth.

No one would take this from him, he decided firmly. No one at all. He wouldn’t Fall, that he believed in, because loving Crowley was no sin. There might be bureaucratic matters to handle. They probably had no prior case like theirs.

Sighing softly, Aziraphale continued to stroke and caress his lover’s hair and skin, and finally turned to his book to read. If Evirel was out for trouble, he had to wait and see in what shape it would come.

 

* * *

 

His return to consciousness brought several sensations with it. First there was warmth. Wonderful warmth. The warmth of sunlight playing over his skin, heating up his demonic form. Then safety. He was somewhere completely safe, utterly protected, and nothing could harm him. Smell was next. He smelled the familiar scent of his angel, of Aziraphale, and his hands touched smooth skin, equally warm.

Crowley blinked his eyes open, narrowed against sudden beams of light stabbing into his sensitive eyes, but despite the fact that the room was bathed in sunlight, he wasn't blinded. His head was pillowed on Aziraphale's lap, an arm flung over the strong thighs like an embrace, and the rest of body seemed to curl around his angel's legs like the snake he was. His wings were out, one folded underneath him, the injured one stretched out over the bed like a gigantic, feathered blanket.

Aziraphale was reading, one hand holding the book, the other resting in the downs of Crowley's wings, playing absent-mindedly with them. As Crowley took stock of himself and his surroundings, the blue eyes moved from the novel to him.

"Hello. How do you feel?"

Surprisingly good, the demon thought.

"Fine," he just mumbled.

"Splendid. You were a mess, my dear."

Yes, he remembered that. "I was there for it," he grumbled, not inclined to move from his very comfortable position. The heat hitting his back felt so very, very good.

Aziraphale chuckled. The book was put aside and the free hand contented itself with stroking Crowley's hair. The demon felt like purring and his eyes slid closed again, only to widen abruptly as he remembered just what had gotten him into this mess.

"The angel!" he blurted and sat up.

It was too sudden for his recovering body and he groaned as vertigo hit him, making him flop gracelessly back against the angel with him in bed. Aziraphale sighed and tsked, shaking his head.

"Take it easy, dear. You're still recovering, That was a nasty wound."

"Which one?" he mumbled around the nausea.

"All of them. Angelic weapons are designed to inflict a maximum amount of harm on demonic bodies with a minimum of actual contact."

"I noticed," came the snarl.

Aziraphale kissed his head and shushed him. Crowley inhaled deeply, despite not needing it, and battled the nausea.

Bloody angel and his bloody unprovoked attack!

"What about the other angel?" he finally asked.

"Evirel?"

"That his name?"

"Apparently. He left."

Crowley pushed away from the currently too comforting and familiar form. "He left to report you!" he snapped.

"Yes, he said so."

"You could Fall for this!"

And now the agitation of before returned.

"You can't Fall, Zira! Not because of me! Never because of me!"

Blue eyes regarded him with a puzzled look. "An angel cannot Fall because of love, Crowley."

"You can Fall for loving the enemy!"

"No." It sounded so even, so calm, so final.

"Zira…"

"He cannot let me Fall for loving you, Crowley." And he sounded so convinced.

"What if he does?" Crowley insisted, refusing to capitalize the H.

The angel didn't look the slightest bit perturbed. "If he found our union a sin, he would have let me Fall already. We've been courting each other for millennia, love. We've defied our respective bosses often enough to warrant consequences because of what we became."

"Maybe he just needed someone to complain about it," the demon murmured dejectedly. "Make it official, you know."

"That's silly."

"But it could be true!"

Aziraphale cupped his face and smiled calmly. "I'm very touched by your concern, but we'll be fine. I love you, Crowley. My feelings are pure and without sin. I wasn't corrupted, coerced or tempted to feel like this." He brushed their lips together. "What I feel is me, Crowley. Untainted and utterly me."

Crowley stared into those bottomless blues, reflecting all the age and rarely surfacing wisdom of this celestial being. He swallowed at what else he saw, what was only for him, and something inside of him whimpered at the intensity. Something else entirely pushed forward and embraced it all, so disgustingly happy to see and feel it.

"Angel…"

"We'll be fine," Aziraphale repeated and silenced all other protests or arguments with a new kiss.

 

°

 

Their love-making was slow but intense, Crowley writhing under the expert hands and lips, surrendering to Aziraphale’s ministrations until he climaxed in a hoarse shout of pleasure. Everything ached, but in a very nice way. Crowley felt surrounded by a haze of utter satisfaction, so completely content it would have made him sick a few months ago. Well, most likely. Not really, actually. But a demon had to keep up appearances.

Breakfast was an almost familiar pattern, with Crowley making himself a coffee that no human in his right mind would consider drinking – lest he want to die of immediate heart attack from so much caffeine, it could wake an army in no time flat. Aziraphale stuck to his tea, regarding the demon with fond exasperation as he stirred the black sludge and gleefully commented on the bad ways of the world According To The Daily News. The spoon made a last effort to survive in the sludge, then gave up and surrendered. Crowley just tossed it onto the table and sipped at the scalding hot brew, an expression of bliss on his face.

Eating scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, Aziraphale studied the narrow features, the handsome countenance of his lover, and smiled to himself. It was all so normal, so homey, and just what they had done in the past millennia already. Sitting together, eating, drinking, talking, gently ruffling each other’s feathers…

“What?” Crowley demanded, peering at him from over his mug.

There was a suspicious expression in the yellow eyes. He had long since stopped wearing sunglasses when it was just the two of them. Aziraphale had never understood why he did it anyway. It wasn’t like the angel didn’t know that the eyes were reptilian.

“Nothing.”

A snarl. “That look is not nothing, angel. Spill!”

“I love you,” Aziraphale only said.

Crowley froze, nearly spilling his coffee, and his mouth opened, then snapped shut again. He scowled. Love declarations outside of the bed were rare. Usually they left Crowley flustered and Aziraphale looking deeply content. Now his face shifted through all kinds of emotions, from disbelief to anger to offence and finally settled on acute embarrassment.

“iluvutoo,” came a mumble, followed by a disgusted look at the hapless table top that had nowhere to run.

The angel gave him a radiant smile. Aziraphale rose and walked over to the sink to deposit his plate. As he turned he placed a gentle hand on the exposed neck of his demon and stroked the tender skin, feeling fine hair touch his palm.

Crowley leaned into the caress with a barely audible purr. Aziraphale bent down and kissed one temple, nuzzling the black hair. An arm snaked lithely around his waist and pulled him close, Crowley suddenly and quite uncharacteristically burying his face in Aziraphale’s sweater.

“Dear,” the angel whispered and wrapped his arms protectively around the black head.

Crowley’s shoulder’s quivered suspiciously and Aziraphale bowed over him, radiating gentle reassurance.

Everything would be okay. He knew it. He was convinced of it.

 

°

 

Above, Evirel was given a stern talking to by no other than the arch angel Michael about his conduct on Earth. He was then stripped of all his privileges, his status revoked, and sent to read up on Memos All Angels Already Knew About But Him. It was like being sent to one's room without dinner. For a few centuries at least.

In silent horror Evirel read His orders concerning a particular demon by the name of Anthony J. Crowley and a specific angel called Aziraphale.

He didn't ask about reasons because His Will wasn't to be questioned. All Evirel felt was shock at his actions, at how he could have missed the memo, and shame. He had made a tremendous mistake, even though he could claim ignorance, but ignorance was never taken lightly in his job. Why a demon was spared by Him, was even under protection from an angel, Evirel didn’t dare to question.

Whatever His reasons, he wouldn’t question them. It was probably all part of the Divine Plan.


End file.
